by Fiona Lowe
‘No. It comes with the mail.’
‘Yesterday my estranged husband appeared in court,’ she said bitterly. ‘They’ve charged him with 1227 counts of theft and fraud and revoked bail. Apparently, there’s so much evidence there’s no room for all of it at the station. They’ve had to rent the house next door.’ She made a half-laughing, half-snorting sound and reached for a Tim Tam. ‘God, it would be funny if it wasn’t so ghastly.’
Xara didn’t know what was more worrisome, that James had ripped off so many people and was now in remand or that Harriet was eating a Tim Tam—Harriet never ate Tim Tams. Usually Xara got a lecture on the calorie load just for offering her one.
Harriet bit down hard on the biscuit but showed no signs she was savouring the milky chocolate coating or the lush, creamy interior. ‘Xar—’ Her voice cracked. ‘I’m going to lose Miligili.’
‘No! You can’t,’ Xara heard herself saying, utterly stunned that the situation had devolved to this. ‘You love that house and all of its Mannering history.’
‘Loving it isn’t enough.’ Harriet wrapped her hands around the thick pottery mug as though she needed its warmth. ‘Believe me, I’ve tried everything. Even a marginally dodgy scheme where James transferred the house into my name.’
‘Not a transfer of love, care and affection? Oh, Harry, why didn’t you talk to me?’
‘Because, just like Angela, you would have tried to talk me out of it. Anyway it’s moot. The bastard’s even made that impossible to pull off.’
‘How? I thought he’d leap at a chance of keeping a stake in the house.’
‘He had a caveat.’
‘What did he want?’
Harriet stood and walked to the bench, pouring herself more tea and fingering the fluffy balls of wool on the sheep tea cosy Georgie had knitted. ‘Do you want a second?’
‘No, thanks.’
Harriet went to the doorway and called into the lounge room, ‘Cup of tea, Steve?’
Tasha squealed. Whether it was in objection to the interruption or something on the screen, it was hard to tell.
‘Thanks, but for peace and quiet I’ll wait until Arthur’s finished.’
‘I can—’
‘Harry,’ Xara interrupted. Her sister never acted like a hostess when she visited. Usually she sat primly on the edge of a dining chair worried that dust or a rogue squished pea would stain her clothes. ‘What did James want in exchange for the transfer?’
Her sister sighed and sat down. ‘He insisted I convince Charlotte to meet with him.
And you didn’t do it. Xara was both thrilled and relieved that amid all the crazy and the drama generated by the surprise pregnancy and her refusal to see or talk with Charlotte, in this instance Harriet had put her daughter first. She leaned over and impulsively hugged her big sister. ‘You did the right thing.’
Harriet stiffened and wriggled against Xara’s arms. ‘It’s cost me my home.’
Xara was struck for the first time how similar Harriet and Edwina were with displays of affection. She drew back from the uncomfortable embrace. ‘If you’d forced Charlie to meet James, it would have cost you your relationship with her.’
Harriet folded her arms across her chest. ‘The horse has bolted on that already.’
Irritation prickled Xara, making her skin hot and itchy. ‘No. You’re the one who’s bolted, but you can turn around and canter back. Charlie’s still in the stable.’
‘Edwina’s stable.’ Air hissed out between Harriet’s clenched teeth. ‘Doesn’t it bother you that after years of indifferent mothering, Edwina’s suddenly a vessel of maternal feeling? She’s clucking around Charlotte like a broody hen. Who knows the display she’s putting on for her first-born child?’
The words struck Xara with the dull thud of realisation. Harriet was no longer the eldest daughter—Michelle had usurped her. ‘Are you jealous of your older sister?’
‘God, no.’ Two pink spots burned on her cheeks. ‘What’s there to be jealous of? We know only too well what Edwina’s like as a mother.’
But Harriet had answered too quickly and too savagely to completely squash Xara’s theory. She thought of the letter in her coat pocket and knew no time would be a good time to bring it up so she may as well do it now. ‘Doug’s daughter, Josie, wrote to me. She wants to meet with us and talk about Michelle.’
‘What’s there to talk about?’ Harriet’s fingers hovered over the Tim Tams before falling away. ‘I don’t intend to meet my half-sister and from what you’ve said, she doesn’t want to meet us. Problem solved.’
‘I don’t think it’s quite as clear cut as all that. Initially, Michelle didn’t want to meet us but that was weeks ago. Things are different now.’
‘So why hasn’t she set it up?’
‘She’s getting a lot of pressure from her brothers not to rock their family boat.’
‘I like the sound of those brothers,’ Harriet said. ‘I mean really, what’s the point of meeting her? The only common ground we have is a biological connection through our mother. A woman she’s known for five weeks.’
‘How is meeting her any different from going to family reunions and talking to long lost cousins?’ Xara asked, using Harriet’s zest for the family tree as an argument. ‘You’re the one who’s forced us to go to the last three reunions. You lectured us on the importance of knowing where we come from so we know who we are.’
‘Yes,’ Harriet said irritably, ‘but you grew up knowing you were part Chirnwell and part Mannering. Michelle didn’t.’
‘She hardly had a choice in the matter and neither did Mum. That doesn’t stop half of her DNA being Mannering.’
‘My advice to her is if she wants to stay in starry-eyed delusional land about her birth mother, perhaps it’s best not to meet us. She’d only hear the real stories about Edwina.’
Xara ground her teeth. ‘From what Mum says there’s nothing remotely starry-eyed about her. Georgie agrees with me that if Michelle wants to meet us then we should make it happen.’
‘Of course Georgie agrees. She’s got a foot in each camp now she’s taken up with Ben.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with Ben,’ Xara said, thinking about the angry and tormented letter from Josie. ‘Michelle grew up with three brothers. Perhaps she’d like some sisters.’
Harriet snorted. ‘We fought all the time growing up.’
‘We bonded over bossing Georgie around.’
The quip didn’t elicit a smile. ‘I have no need of another sister, Xara.’
‘Neither does Doug’s daughter Josie.’ The idea of Josie and Harriet meeting or Skyping, as Josie had suggested, was unsettling. ‘But I want to meet Michelle.’
‘Why?’ Harriet sounded genuinely mystified.
‘Because it will kill the air of mystery surrounding her. And you never know, we might have things in common. We might even like her and her kids.’
Harriet’s brows rose in an I-don’t-think-so arch but before Xara could respond, Tasha squealed loudly. Harriet flinched as always at the high-pitched and penetrating sound.
Xara rose. ‘That’s the I’m-wet-and-uncomfortable squeal. I’ll just go and change her.’
As if reading her mind, Steve called out, ‘I’ve got it.’
‘Thanks,’ she yelled back and groaned as she sat down. ‘I gave the twins a lecture this morning about yelling from room to room. I’ve just realised Steve and I are just as bad.’
‘A house with stone walls puts paid to that,’ Harriet said, a catch in her voice.
‘Are you sure there’s nothing else you can try to save Miligili?’
‘I’ve tried everything that’s legally, morally and ethically palatable. My estranged husband’s a special man,’ Harriet said acidly. ‘Despite stealing millions, James has managed to run up a large domestic debt as well, some of which I’m liable for. Angela and I have looked at it all six ways from Sunday. My best option is to sell.’
Xara frowned, hoping the lawyer had covered all
the bases. ‘And the split on the sale price?’
‘I’ll get a larger percentage. His share will be seized by creditors. Fun times.’
The thought of Harriet living in a different house was so foreign to Xara that she could barely wrap her head around it. ‘I guess you’ll move into a smaller place in town?’ She suddenly got an idea. ‘What about the Sandersons’ Edwardian? It’s beautifully restored with gorgeous pressed-metal ceilings. Oh, and it’s close to the lake for running and close to the hospital too.’
Harriet sat up straighter, her old verve back in the set of her shoulders and the sparkling glint in her eyes. ‘Actually, I quite fancy an Art Deco apartment in Rose Bay. I’ve applied for a position at RPA in Sydney.’
Xara’s mouth fell open. ‘Sydney? You hardly know anyone in Sydney.’
‘I’ve got school friends there.’ Harriet gave her a patronising smile, as if Xara was simple. ‘And I’ll get to know people. After all, Sydney’s the party town.’
An angry wave of indignation oscillated in Xara’s chest. ‘You always said you hated cities and now, just like that—’ she snapped her fingers ‘—you’re off to Sydney?’
Harriet’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s hardly “just like that”. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. You have no idea how difficult things have been for me these last five months. I deserve a fresh start.’
‘A fresh start?’ Xara lost control and her voice rose. ‘What planet are you on? You have a pregnant daughter living in Billawarre. How does she fit into your fresh start?’
‘I’m hardly abandoning Charlotte to the streets,’ Harriet said tightly. ‘She’s being well looked after by her grandmother.’
‘Spare me. You can’t honestly sit there and tell me that the fact Charlie’s got a roof over her head absolves you of all responsibility?’ Xara thumped the table and the Tim Tams rattled on the chipped plate. ‘I’m not saying the last few months haven’t been tough for you. I won’t argue that you’ve worked hard all your life, but you’ve also had some good luck and good fortune. For years, everything’s gone your way. You’ve had power, prestige and privilege. Life’s been pretty cushy for you, Harriet Jane.
‘Yes, the town’s behaved badly. Yes, what James did to you is unforgiveable, but what you’re doing to Charlie is pretty bloody unforgiveable too. You’re running away from the first tough situation you’ve ever had to face.’
Harriet’s mouth thinned into a hard and brittle line. ‘I face tough situations every day at work.’
‘That’s completely different.’
‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Excuse me?’ Xara said coldly. ‘Do you really want to go down this path with me?’
Harriet, never one to back down from a fight, held her gaze, her blue eyes deepening to flinty shale grey. Xara imagined that her own looked pretty much the same: silver flashes of angry lightning against a dark blue sky.
‘You want to compete with me for life’s suckiest moments, Harry? It’s not a wise bet. I’ll win it hands down. No contest.’
Xara flung her arm toward the living room, slicing through the air so fast that tendons moving against bone audibly cracked. ‘I have a daughter whose potential was stolen from her before she was born. Her life is so far removed from the dream I held for her it still rips me apart fourteen years later.’
‘Exactly,’ Harriet said, nodding in agreement. ‘You understand then how I feel about Charlotte and this pregnancy.’
Xara felt as if her skull was being blasted open by volcanic fury. ‘No! No,’ she stuttered, barely able to draw breath to make the words. ‘You don’t get to align yourself with me on this one. We don’t share the same level of pain about our daughters. My child will never eat, never walk, never talk, never write, never read, never …’ Angry tears built behind her eyes. ‘You have a healthy, functioning daughter brimming with potential, but you’re blind to that because she’s not living the life you envisaged for her. A life you’re trying to impose on her. And because things aren’t going your way, you’ve cut her loose.’
‘I have not cut her loose.’ Harriet ground out each word with the precision and sharpness of a diamond cutter. ‘Charlotte is choosing to live her life without me in it.’
Xara threw her hands up as despair fused with utter frustration. ‘Can you hear yourself? You’ve put Charlie in an impossible situation. You’ve asked her to choose you or the baby. I know it’s breaking your heart that Charlie’s pregnant but life isn’t perfect. God, I worked that out years ago. It’s messy and complicated and disorganised. People do things that hurt you. People disappoint you and let you down. Family lets you down and that one hurts the most.’
‘Especially mothers who have a child no one knows about,’ Harriet interrupted.
Xara ignored her. This time Harriet didn’t get to hide behind her antagonism for Edwina and her idealistic adoration for their father. This time Xara wanted her to face her own behaviour. ‘It’s especially devastating when the dream we hold for our child crashes and burns. But sometimes, Harry, in the muck and dross of family life, you stumble over a nugget of gold sparkling brightly amid the imperfections. When that happens, it’s magic.’
She thought about her daily challenges and a memory from three weeks ago flared into life. The twins had brought home an orphaned lamb and they’d jumped from the ute and rushed straight to their sister, shoving it at her with an enthusiasm borne of love and a desire to include. Tasha’s face had lit up in its contorted way but the rictus hadn’t suppressed the pleasure. It was those moments that kept Xara going. Those moments that made all the hardship and pain worthwhile.
‘Only you won’t ever find those moments of magic if you run away to fucking Sydney!’ Xara’s voice hit fever pitch.
‘I. Am. Not. Running. Away.’ The skin on Harriet’s face stretched so tightly that her cheekbones threatened to break through. Her usually well-modulated voice took on a screech worthy of a galah. ‘And you have no idea what I’m going through. You’ve never lived and worked in a town that hates you.’
‘Um, Xara.’ Steve appeared in the doorway. ‘Everything okay in here?’
‘No!’ As she yelled at him she heard Harriet’s voice echoing her own.
Harriet had risen to her feet, her chest heaving. ‘I came out here today because I thought you were the one person who’d understand. Obviously, I was erroneous in that assumption.’ The pompous surgeon had swooped in, vanquishing all traces of the needy sister who’d run out to the farm an hour earlier.
‘It’s clear I’m no longer welcome. I’ll leave.’
‘Of course you’ll leave,’ Xara said bitterly. ‘Perish the thought you might actually stay and listen to something I have to say.’
‘I’ll listen, Xara, when it’s something worth hearing.’
Xara was hurled back in time to the circular arguments they’d shared during their childhood and teenage years. Only this time the argument wasn’t about how much shelf space she deserved in the shared wardrobe at Apollo Bay or her right to hang her music posters in the games room. This time it was much more important but Harriet stood staring at her as she’d always done—aloof, disinterested and slightly disdainful.
Xara crossed her trembling arms, her tongue feeling thick and clumsy in her mouth. ‘Off you go then. Run away from your messy, imperfect family who keep letting you down. Go to Sydney. Construct the façade of a perfect life with your friends who are using money to hide their own messy lives. You’ll fit right in.’
‘Now you’re just talking nonsense.’
Harriet’s haughty tone undid her. ‘Am I? Remember that then when I’m here in Billawarre getting to know your grandchild and you’re living a thousand kilometres away.’
Harriet’s face raged puce and she pushed past Xara, heading for the back door.
Steve grabbed the ute’s keys off the hook. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
‘I no longer have a home,’ Harriet said dully before disappearing outsi
de.
Shaking, Xara sank onto a chair, uncertain if she wanted to cry or throw up.
Steve hovered where he stood, clearly undecided if he should stay with his wife or make sure his sister-in-law got home without developing hypothermia.
Alone in the lounge room, Tasha squealed.
‘I’ll go,’ Xara said with a weariness she recognised as being decades old. ‘You take Harry home, but Steve?’
‘Yes.’
‘I meant every word that I said. Do not apologise for me.’
A sad smile played across his lips as he pulled on his hat. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’
PART THREE
CHAPTER
30
‘An island holiday,’ Ben had suggested to Georgie late in August when her brain was full of everything she had to do for the school’s open day as well as finding time to revamp her CV. ‘I was thinking the end of September. The first week of third-term holidays. It will be a getaway from school, our families and the last six crazy months. A complete rest.’
The words ‘complete rest’ and ‘island holiday’ had immediately conjured the image of lazing on a golden beach with a good book in one hand and one of those bright coloured cocktails that always came with a paper umbrella in the other. More importantly, the beach would be a student- and parent-free zone. She’d embraced the idea. Since they’d moved in together they’d been making plans. Their dream was to move to the country and buy a house. Currently, they were both scouring the internet and the regional newspapers for rural jobs inside and outside of the Education Department. Ben was encouraging her to get out of classroom teaching and consider a job where she could explore her art. He’d been the one to see the advertisement for an art therapy job in Bendigo and suggest she might consider applying.
‘You’re frantic,’ Ben had said when she agreed to the holiday. ‘I’ll organise it. Leave everything to me.’
Given how much she had to do, his offer had been a gift. ‘God, I love you,’ she’d said, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.
